Lightweight
by agrajagthetesty
Summary: Matt sits, dumbstruck, and does not respond as Near throws a blanket across his legs. He must be dreaming. He must be getting the wrong idea. There is no way this means what he thinks it does.


_Warning: Matt/Near, some sexual references_

* * *

**Lightweight**

Matt opens his eyes, and immediately he knows that something isn't right. The lighting in the room is all wrong: harsh, bright, headache-inducing and tinged with blue, not the faintly dusty yellow he is used to. The ceiling is no longer dirty and peeling with damp, but consists of square tiles, placed as regularly as a pure white chessboard, and the walls are a blank dreamlike expanse. The air is different: not a trace of ash, alcohol or stale, unwashed clothing. It smells like a brand new office building.

Come to think of it, the _bed_ smells different too, he muses. Almost… fresh? He frowns. Not a sterile smell, more like laundry on a washing line or freshly towel-dried hair. Not a smell that he comes into contact with very often.

Also unfamiliar to him is the strange send he has of vague discomfort. He allows his perception to roam over his body, searching for the source of it. As he tilts his head from side to side on the mattress, he finds that his neck and shoulders are massively stiff, but that is hardly new. Too many years hunched over screens and keyboards have left him with more knots than muscle between his shoulder blades, and by now he barely notices it unless his attention is drawn to it. There is a slight ache behind his eyeballs that tells him he has not slept enough, and a dryness in his mouth and throat that cries out for water, but again these sensations are too common to cause him much confusion. One less familiar feeling is the fuzziness in his head that twists into dull pain when he moves too suddenly. Apparently Mello was right when he accused him of being more of a lightweight than he thinks.

Grimacing, he pushes this out of his head and moves on in his mental exploration of his body. Feet: warmer and sweatier than normal as he has slept with his socks on. Legs: fine but with a slight cramp in one calf; he bends his knee upwards and it eases. Chest: okay. Arms: okay. Back…

Back.

He reaches one arm around under his body and his hand closes on something hard, of plastic and fabric; drawing it out, he finds that it is his goggles.

He has slept on his goggles?

He blinks stupidly at the ceiling for another second.

Then he bolts upright, disregarding his hangover, his tiredness, the myriad sources of pain in his neck. He scrabbles around wildly, clutching at nothing- a blanket, God, isn't there a single blanket in this place?- and then all of a sudden stops as the movement catches up with him and he leans forwards and clutches his head.

"Good morning."

Oh.

Oh, _shit._

"I seem to have taken more than my share of the covers," Near says, sitting up and unravelling himself from the duvet; Matt winces at the glimpse of pale, bare thigh the movements produce.

How in the name of everything holy did this happen?

He sits, dumbstruck, and does not respond as Near throws a blanket across his legs. He must be dreaming. He must be getting the wrong idea. There is no way this means what he thinks it does.

"I'll give you a minute to reacquaint yourself with the surroundings," Near is saying, and Matt wants to cry at how stupidly calm he sounds. "Judging by your actions, you seem to be suffering due to your inebriation last night."

"I wasn't drunk," Matt snaps.

"I suppose not," Near says, "as that would mean I took advantage of you, wouldn't it?"

What a thought.

Matt moans, cradling his head in his hands.

"Shall I fetch you some water?" Near asks.

"No!" Matt says, and then winces again.

"I'll fetch you some water," Near says and gets up, not without a slight, barely perceptible grimace. Matt averts his eyes hastily, feeling himself blush. How can Near act so normally in such a situation? How is he not freaking out? More importantly, how is he not embarrassed?

Once he is sure that the pale boy has gone, Matt hauls himself up, ignoring his headache, and begins to stagger around the room collecting his belongings. He finds his rucksack behind the desk- how the hell?- and throws it onto the bed, then wrestles his body into his clothes, which are not feeling cooperative. He sits on the bed to fasten his boots, and then, as he pulls his goggles over his face, is reassured as the room immediately begins to look more like his own.

A cigarette would help him calm down, he thinks feverishly, and he has rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a battered carton before he remembers that not only is it empty, but smoking would probably set off the fire alarms. Not to mention how annoyed Near would be.

Near.

Oh, _shit_.

He hadn't been drunk, but it seems as though his recollection of the previous night is an extremely long way away and wreathed in shadow. He squints, as if that will help him remember. Something about an exchange…?

There is a soft creak beside him and he yelps, recoiling reflexively.

"I got aspirin too," Near says.

"R- Right…"

Matt takes the pills shakily and chases them with the water, still unwilling to look at Near even though the smaller boy has thought to get dressed in the time he was gone. Even that is a miracle, considering how very comfortable he seemed beforehand…

Torn between horror and curiosity, Matt dances around this thought.

"You seem to be preparing to go," Near comments.

Matt, halfway through draining the glass, shoots a look at him. Near does not seem to have much of an opinion of what he has said- in fact it seems to bore him. But one can never be too sure.

"Yeah," Matt says, lowering the glass and toying with it in his hands. Near snatches it away instantly. "I need to go. Quickly. I didn't mean to- stay all night. Mello'll-"

His head goes to one side and he looks at Near. Near looks back.

"Mello can't know," he says, and he is on his feet holding Near urgently by the front of his shirt. "You can't tell him about this. You can't."

Near's eyes narrow. His tongue pokes between his teeth and draws his lower lip into his mouth and Matt almost- almost- becomes distracted.

"It's not as if I was planning on giving him a detailed account," Near says after a pause.

"I'm serious!" Matt hisses, his grip tightening. "You can't say anything. No hints, no insinuations, nothing. He can't know."

"It's none of his business. Why should it matter whether he knows or not?"

"He might kill me," Matt points out.

Near tugs a lock free from his mop of tangled curls, which looks particularly unbrushed this morning. "True."

Matt could cry with frustration. That Near acknowledges the notion as a possibility does not help his current situation.

"But he would be unjustified if he did," Near adds.

"That's not really the point," Matt mutters.

Near, ignoring Matt, sits on the side of the bed. Matt's hands are tugged forwards by their hold on his shirt, and he steps towards the bed unthinkingly.

"I'm surprised at you," Near says. "I thought you were fighting with Mello."

Matt blinks in incomprehension yet again. "I was?"

Near sighs heavily. "At this point, denying that you were drunk last night seems to be a futile endeavour," he says, giving Matt a pointed look.

"Y- yeah…"

"Do you want me to refresh your memory?"

Matt is unsure, but thinks that if Mello is angry with him he at least should know why. "Yeah, tell me."

"Let go of my shirt then."

Matt, feeling foolish, does so and then, not knowing what else to do, sits beside Near on the bed.

"You arrived here at roughly quarter past one this morning, obviously intoxicated and saying something about a trade of information. You told me that you and Mello had fought over this and that you had decided to make the offer to me on your own. Apparently he threw something at you as you left. Of course, all of that is paraphrased."

Matt twitches. He may be having difficulty recalling these events right now but that does not mean he was as incoherently drunk as Near is implying.

"Did we exchange information?"

"Of course not," Near says smoothly. "You would have remembered nothing I told you, you were in no fit state to negotiate, and it is not apparent that whatever I told you would have reached Mello's ears, as he seemed so opposed to the exchange. My race is with him, not you."

Ouch.

Matt attempts to brush this aside and move on with dignity, but he has reached a crucial stumbling block in his mind. "So then… so then we…"

"I believe," Near says, "that you may be making incorrect assumptions about what happened."

Matt seizes this like a hungry dog. "I am? I mean, am I? What actually happened then? Did we just…"

"We slept together, yes."

Matt glares. "Well that's exactly what I assumed! What's so incorrect about that?"

"That wasn't what I was referring to. I meant to reassure you that in fact I didn't take advantage of you."

Matt is not reassured. In fact he almost feels more sorry for himself. He leans back against the headboard and closes his eyes.

"I'm thinking better of it now though," Near says thoughtfully, "since you obviously regret it so much."

Matt opens his mouth, and then shuts it again. By now he doesn't really care whether Near is upset by this realisation.

"Although I think you should know that you were the one who kissed me."

"I was _not_," Matt says, and then a strange creeping feeling comes over him.

"_I dun get it Near, this could… rreally help you know. We c'n… join… forces. Work together, n' share information, n'… join forces. Y'know. I dun get Mello's problem, you're… y'r all right. Near."_

Matt stares at the wall in front of him, turning red as the memories stream back into his head.

"Perhaps in future it would be an idea not to get so drunk that you won't remember what you do," Near says.

"I didn't mean to," Matt says numbly.

Near looks at him steadily, seems to come to a conclusion, crawls over into his lap and tugs his goggles down off his face and around his neck.

Matt leaps backwards as if stung. "Don't do that!"

"All right," Near says, dropping his hands and shuffling backwards, "but it hardly makes a difference."

"_Mmm… nn. You're… huh?"_

"_Matt-?"_

"_You're all right, s'all. You're allll… Mmm…"_

Matt holds his face in his hands.

"Alcohol is extraordinary," Near murmurs as if thinking out loud.

Matt looks up at him questioningly.

"Well, you obviously don't want to sleep with me, but that wasn't the impression I received. How can your views have been changed so drastically?"

"…It does that," Matt says, feeling his cheeks heat.

"It is evidently something to be avoided."

"What about you?" Matt says indignantly. "You're not interested in me. Why did you let this happen?"

Near frowns a little. "I'm not sure that's precisely the right way to phrase it. I did not find it an entirely unenjoyable experience. Even putting that aside, you're wrong. I'm interested, at least in the sense of curiosity. And you're an attractive person."

Matt looks at him like Near has told him that he has been wrong all his life and the sky is actually green.

"So," Near says, "do you still want to negotiate a trade of information?"

Matt, still stunned, can only shake his head. "No. I don't think so. Not now. Maybe later, if I can talk Mello into it."

"Yes," Near says wryly, "seeing as his opinions would appear to trump both of ours combined."

Matt blinks, not expecting this topic to be brought up. It is not as if he and Near have any secrets any more, and Mello could hardly kill him any more than he will if he finds out what has already happened between them. But all the same.

"I'm not going to talk about this," he says. Near shuffles back as Matt swings his legs off the side of the bed and stands. "I need to go," Matt says, pulling his goggles up from his neck and off the top of his head, running a hand through his hair, and then turning on Near and shooting him a glare. "_Don't_ tell Mello."

"I'm not planning to tell him," Near says, "but it's a highly useful card to hold."

Matt, midway through fastening his rucksack, stops and stares at him, eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

Near loops a finger in his hair. "It would be a waste not to use this to my advantage should the need arise."

All of a sudden Near finds his back pressed against the headboard of the bed, with Matt's hands on either side of his head and Matt's face within inches of his own.

Matt's voice is oddly quiet, yet it sizzles like fat in a flame. "And why would the need arise?"

Near's eyes harden. "Either do whatever it is you want to do or remove yourself from my personal space."

Matt does not budge.

"I meant," Near says, sounding almost exasperated, "that under particular circumstances, or if the situation between Mello and I ever reaches a certain level of antagonism, I would be willing to use these events as a weapon against him."

"What level of antagonism would that be?" Matt says, wondering exactly how much room there is for the situation to get worse.

"It's difficult to set a threshold on such things. Certainly our relations would have to have significantly deteriorated. I would have to have a far greater emotional investment in it, for one."

Matt's eyes narrow but he lets go of the headboard. "What about the particular circumstances?"

"That would be if you were killed."

Matt's eyes widen with shock. He looks away, coughs uncomfortably, and then glances back at Near for a few seconds but is forced to break eye contact again.

Near's gaze does not flicker.

"W- Well," Matt says eventually, shuffling his feet, "I'll try not to let that happen."

"I'll try too. Perhaps we can negotiate an information trade at some point. Assuming we don't die."

Matt rolls his eyes. "Doesn't seem likely but yeah, perhaps."

He is standing, his rucksack packed and essentials in his pockets, when Near speaks again. "It would be common courtesy to kiss me goodbye."

Matt stops, his heart skipping a beat. "Wh- What?"

Near gets up and pads across the floor towards him. "Like I said, last night was not unenjoyable. And I told you that you're attractive. I would like to know whether similar events could have taken place without the effects of alcohol."

"I… well. I don't see you very often, and I've known you since we were kids, so it's kind of…"

But he has to stop there, as Near has pulled him down by his collar and is kissing him, almost tentatively, with the odd experimental nip on his lower lip. Matt's whole body seems to stop working all at once. His headache begins to creep up on him again- it is heightened by his eyes crossing as they struggle to focus on Near's face, so he closes his eyes. Near notices and lets go of his collar, but Matt does not pull away immediately.

Near's skin is as cool and smooth as it looks, and it triggers memories of lips pressing together while hands cling to his shoulders and chest.

But then he does pull away.

Near steps backwards. His eyes display no change, and when he speaks his voice is calm. "I see."

"I have to keep on like I have been," Matt says, although no explanation has been requested. "It isn't fair- you have L's inheritance and this place and the SPK, but Mello- he just has a gun, a room full of chocolate, and me."

Near nods. "Yes, that's true. It is a reasonable decision."

"I'm sorry-"

"Don't," Near says firmly, "or I'll be angry."

Matt meets his eyes, nods once, and slides the door open. "I'll try not to die," he says.

* * *

_Author's notes: More of these two. This will probably be the last, though. Also, hooray for my 40th fic! 8D_


End file.
